Classic Poem

We speak of pansies in rich velvet drest,
Of daffodil and woodbine " well attired";
Or say smooth lilies wear a silken vest,
That so their beauty may be more admired;
Yet finer are the textures, thus exprest,
Than vain luxurious monarch e'er desired;
Nor costliest web twice dipped in Tyrian dye,
With peony's deep blush did ever truly vie.

Ev'n as the rainbow, in mid heav'n suspended,
Paints to a thinking heart th' Almighty mind,
His mercy, pow'r, and love divinely blended, —
So these fair colours, wondrously combined,
These earthly rainbows o'er the plains extended.
Footsteps of One whom they who seek shall find,
May faintly picture to man's musing sight
The glories kept in store for all that love the light.

Calmly they show their splendour to the sun
In rich apparel with no labour sought,
Emblems of blessed Saints that heav'n have won,
Who, clothed upon , beyond our human thought,
In robes for which they neither toiled nor spun,
Bright robes by Jesus earthly travail bought,
Shed fragrant incense 'mid celestial air,
And still more fragrant dews with all around them share.

If God so richly gems each hidden glade
With flow'rs profuse — a seeming reckless waste, —
And scatters radiance o'er the forest shade
In tangled wilds by human foot untraced,
While secret caves, in lucid spars arrayed,
Might seem as if for courtly pageant graced,
What splendours shall his own Elect surround
When they in open Heav'n with Christ Himself are crowned!

Will God then clothe me too in garments fine,
Which stateliest monarch's richest robe exceed,
Whilst I like lilies that in sunlight shine
Look up to Heav'n, nor for myself take heed?
Nay! Thou in haste must seek the realm divine,
There to receive some far more glorious weed;
How he shall clothe thee doth not yet appear:
Christ as He is none see while yet they sojourn here.

To frame a nest where he shall never dwell
The silk-worm spins, for others' profits caring;
The ocean insect forms a coral cell,
Then leaves the glosey home for others' wearing;
And fish, that slowly shape the wreathed shell,
Spend all the day in each day's need preparing;
A house not made with hands our toils may gain,
Where we may dwell for aye exempt from toil and pain.

Our toils a prize which human skill and force
Could ne'er have fashioned surely may obtain.
Christ's are the amaranth flowers that crown the course,
But we must run that deathless wreath to gain:
As waters flowing from a lofty source
In some high-seated reservoir remain,
His merits are already stored on high,
" 'Tis ours to climb the steep and to that flood draw nigh".